


Cycle of Violence

by Flyting



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Abuse as kink, Community: tfa_kink, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Dark, Emotional Manipulation, Hux gets off on them, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Ren has anger issues, probably shouldn't be read by anyone ever, the author does not endorse this behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 13:49:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6522334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flyting/pseuds/Flyting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the TFA-kink prompt: <i>Kylux, domestic abuse kink - Black eye, split lip, Hux tells everyone he walked into a door. He didn't.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Cycle of Violence

“Are you alright, sir?” Mitaka finally asks, with practiced nonchalance, after several minutes of fussing with sensor readouts for what Hux can plainly see from across the bridge is an empty patch of space. He’s prepared for the question.  
  
“What do you mean?” he asks. Brisk. Uncomprehending. Hux is a much better liar than Mitaka. He’s been doing it longer.  
  
“Your-“ Mitaka makes a vague gesture to the side of his own face, just under his cheekbone.  
  
Hux makes a dismissive sound. “That?” he says, as though he had completely forgotten. As though he hadn’t spent ages staring at the blossoming purple bruise creeping up his jawline in the mirror that morning, engrossed in the play of colors on his own pale face. “Phasma put me through my paces in the sparring ring yesterday. I’ve gotten dreadfully out of practice,” his mouth quirks in a self-deprecating smirk, which tugs at the split in his bottom lip. He licks his lip and tastes copper. “It looks worse than it is.”  
  
Hux very deliberately does not look at Kylo Ren. Not so much as a glance in the man’s direction, although Hux can feel him looming just outside the edge of his vision, seemingly staring out one of the viewports. He doesn’t have to see Ren to know exactly where he is in a room at any given time. He distorts everything around himself, like a black hole. Pulling at Hux’s attention, urging him to look. He doesn’t.  
  
Ren didn’t usually mark his face. He usually had more control than that. Hux is an old hand at hiding bruises beneath the high collars and long sleeves of his uniform. He’s been doing it since he was a boy. Hiding his face was harder, unless Ren expected him to follow his lead and start wearing a ridiculous mask everywhere. Still, he will rise to the challenge. Ren seems to be settling for not looking him in the face when they are in public. Hux doesn't know if it's shame or simple childish denial- if he doesn't see it, it isn't really there.   
  
Hux busies himself with an irregularity in a coordinate log, leaning over the Lieutenant’s shoulder, his back to Ren.  
  
They all had their vices. Kylo Ren had his temper. Hux had this.  
  
The sweet, sharp crack of relief- of hands around his neck, a knee in his stomach doubling him over, of a gloved hand across his face- the payoff after weeks of building anxiety. It was the release he enjoyed, not the pain. The sudden vicious unwinding of the crackling tension that had been built up between them. The waiting was the worst part. The way the pressure built, day after day, until he could hardly breath for the way it pulled all the air from the room. That sick knot of fear in his stomach. How it spiked at every too-quick movement, every harsh word. 

He had learned early on how to deal with it. It was the most blissful feeling, no longer having to worry when the next blow would come, because it was here, it was over with.  
  
Some of his best memories of childhood were of that calm after the storm, when his father’s rage was spent.  
  
Ren is always so deliciously apologetic afterwards. He kisses the bruises he’s left. Mutters apologies and promises against Hux’s skin as he fucks him, sweetly, into the mattress. “I’ll do better,” he said last night, contrite, curled around Hux from behind. “I know I’ve got to do better.” He pressed a kiss just under Hux’s ear. Grateful for the chance to try again. As if Hux didn’t plan it, didn’t know exactly what he was doing when he pushed and pestered, dropping disdainful comments and snide remarks until Ren’s atom-thin patience snapped.  
  
He wonders sometimes if Ren is on to what he is doing. If he knows he’s being provoked. Hux doesn’t know if it would make things better or worse if he did, and so he puts it out of his mind.  
  
Later tonight he will prod at the split in his lip with his tongue until it bleeds. Then, just as carefully, he will badger Ren- the lack of results his little hunting expedition has turned up, perhaps -picking at flaws until Ren unclasps his mask, shoves Hux up against the wall right there in the hallway and kisses him just to silence him. “Greedy,” Ren will say, tracing the cut on his lip with a thumb. Hux will agree, groaning, and drag him back down by his hair. Smearing the blood between their mouths. He’s always greedy just after they’ve fought- hard up and desperate for it at all hours of the day. He’s earned it, after all. Paid in blood and pain. 

If he’s careful about it, he can milk a few more nights of indulgence out of Ren before the whole thing begins again.

**Author's Note:**

> I hate myself a little for writing this.


End file.
